livinginmyglass | (no subject)

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Viola does not remember the corridor being so long, or the stairs being quite so numerous. She also doesn't remember them seeming quite so wobbly, but that she can attribute to the not inconsiderable amount of whiskey consumed by her and Hal, to whose arm she is steadfastly clinging.

She has an inkling of why gentlemen get drunk on purpose-- there is something pleasant about the giddy, dizzy feeling, and she just keeps laughing-- but she also feels heavy and sleepy and a little bit sick, and she doesn't at all like the feeling that her mouth is running a few steps in front of her head, her body's responses lagging even behind that.

"Now 'tis near-- well-- 'tis nearly near..."

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Hal's not quite at that point yet, but he's far from sober--far enough from it that his attention is on keeping two people more or less upright, and Cesario's conversation goes only half-noticed.

But by God, Cesario does laugh like a girl.

"--1221, didst thou say?"

"Did I? Ay, I did, and 'tis so." She's leaning heavily against him, her cheek smashed against his shoulder. That's a convenient and not-awkward way to walk down the hall, right? "I did not think to be away long, and did not turn the lock. Marvelous foresight!"

Hal has his arm around Cesario's shoulders, which is a convenient and not-awkward way to steer someone down the hall--and those slim shoulders don't do much to counter the laughter's girlishness. It's--it would possibly be appealing, if Hal had spent a little less time just now thinking that Cesario is probably even younger than his youngest brother. As it is, he's either too drunk or too sober for a full appreciation.

"--Ah--marvelous--yes--" That still leaves the opening of the door, dammit. Come on. The turny thing, and the pushing, and--

Some balance may be lost when the door gives way.

Well how about that? Viola doesn't put too much effort into attempting to regain her balance, though she lets go of Hal rather than drag him down with her as she ends up stumbling to her knees.

"Why come, sir, be seated, sir," she laughs.

She has done nothing in the way of decorating. The only bits and pieces in the room that seem to belong to her are a stack of library books on the end table and trim little cape and hat, both matched to the rest of her outfit, draped over a chair.

....Hmmm.

It seems only right to sit, in that case, and in a spirit of equality, he chooses the floor. There. "And now I am enthroned; sing heigh-ho for me." Harry rubs his face with both hands. "This was a grand scheme of ours," he says from behind them.

"Well plotted by thee," she says. "And poorly played by me, I fear. I did not think-- I have not ever-- I have not ever been drunk before." No, really? "But to judge by your companions in London, I venture thou hast some experience in't?"

"An excellent plot," he agrees. "And it will be again, when next we try it; 'tis not a plot that can in any way be marred with intelligence."

After some consideration, he lies down on the floor. (Not on his back, because that makes the spinning ceiling worse; but propped on his elbow.)

"O, I am an old campaigner, old in such vices, old in sin. Old in--how old art thou, Cesario?" Is sixteen a high estimate?

"I am ever taken for younger than my years," she replies. She leans back against the bed.

"But well I see thou'rt much advanced in years."

...right, he's ever taken for younger than his years. Hal gives him a skeptical look. "My hair will soon be white," is all he says, though. "And so thou art nearly grey."

"Through much care, perhaps," she says with a snort. "I might say I am mere weeks old, new born to the life I lead now."

"An infant sinner." But Cesario's life has changed by rather more than a few drinks and dirty jokes. Harry traces a spiral on the floor with a fingertip. "But thou hast carried thyself into thy new life with passing good grace."

"And passing with good grace."

--did she say that out loud? It came out in sort of a mumbled giggle, maybe he didn't hear. Even so, she straightens up a little bit, tries to force her mind at least a shade closer to sobriety.

No, he didn't quite catch it, but he still raises his eyebrows at the straightening and the giggling and the attempt at solemnity.

"Thou, Cesario--brace thyself, for I know it will shock thee, I know it will offend thy very innermost being--thou, Cesario, art drunk."

"I blame ill counsel," she replies, mostly succeeding in maintaining some gravity. "I have fallen into wicked company, men pleased to mislead mine innocence. Thou hast paid many a youth in such a fashion, I doubt it not."

Edited 2015-10-20 19:17 (UTC)

"I--I must confess it to be so! I am become a great leader of men, it is the new life I lead now: the leader astray of men. Of youth, of maids."

Her head snaps up. "Of--" No, wait. He's just listing things, the maid doesn't mean her.

She attempts to recover from the slip with a grin. "Why, hast had much success here in that respect?"

"Why, if I but chose to--" he says loftily, waving one hand up in the air, "If I but stretched myself, applied myself to the task--"

Viola snorts. "Such certainty! A dear loss to women, sure."

"Indeed it is! What, art now such an expert as to speak for women, when 'tis such a terror to thee to speak to them?"

"And does not mine own experience entitle me to such speech?" she scoffs.

--wait.

"By which I mean to say-- my father had a daughter, too, whose mind I knew as my own."

He drops his hand back to the floor and stares. "Yea, and I have two sisters, but I do not count their wisdom, if they have any, as mine own."

Viola shrugs. "Hast ever sought to learn it of them?"

She suspects the answer is no-- and very much hopes it will be, because she certainly doesn't have any other explanation at the ready.

"They are but--children," he says slowly. "I would say maids, and indeed I trust-- but they have both been married."

His father had been in great haste to make strategic matches for his children, the moment he took the throne. The girls hadn't had his or his brothers' luck in escaping it.

Hal flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling as it spins.

"We will speak no more of families," she says quietly. "Methinks it is a melancholy subject for us both."

Lying down, though, that looks like a good idea. She slumps slowly down to the ground, then curls up on her side. The carpet against her cheek doesn't feel particularly pleasant, but it's close enough to comfortable that she even lets her eyes drift closed for a moment or two.

"Indeed it is the common lot of girls," he says, still in his own thoughts without much heeding Cesario's. "In--in families with expectations. A strange wedding it must make, when the bride is brought in from playing with her dolls."

Now he catches up to Cesario's suggestion. Yes. Yes, actually, that's smart. After a few moments of quiet, he rolls back onto his side, and finds Cesario curled up with his eyes closed.

Harry reaches out and touches his cheek.